


Mistakes Worth Making

by FelicityGS



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Avengers still exist, Brothers, Character Study, Class Differences, Loki vs Crab, M/M, No Magic Loki, No Sex, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Pre-Relationship, Relationship Negotiation, Slice of Life
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-18
Packaged: 2019-08-20 23:57:01
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16565594
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicityGS/pseuds/FelicityGS
Summary: It's 3AM, and Loki has a coffee shop to open in an hour.Unfortunately, there's a drunk under the table to get rid of first.(rated teen for the alcohol drinking, but it's probably a pretty safe gen)





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I wrote the bulk of this a while back. I ended up stopping because I felt bad for the ending I wanted to give it, and worried people would hate it for that.
> 
> I finally wrote the ending I wanted it to have and cleaned it up.
> 
> All of this came about from the kinds of meandering Korean novels I've been reading. I just... really enjoy slice of life things, and wanted to try to write a little bit of one as well. This came out more of a character study than any traditional narrative.
> 
> I do hope you'll indulge me, and you enjoy the ride.

Working at a coffee shop means that there is always some _fresh_ and _new_ delight (annoyance) that Loki has not encountered. It’s why he likes the job--problem-solving is a delight.

He is not quite sure how to solve this problem.

He begins to sweep. It’s nearly three AM, he has another hour until he needs to find a proper solution. He sweeps, and every now and then he glances over at the sleeping--and once drunk, from the smell--lump of clothes under one of the tables. Business suit, nice cut (probably male, but Loki won’t assume). Firmly asleep.

Peter closed last night and as absent minded as the young journalist is, he’s never managed to leave a drunk person in before. Loki checked and there’s no sign of any break-in. It’s possible the boss knows this person and let them crash, but _why_ they would be allowed to sleep under a table instead of on the cot in the kitchen is beyond Loki. 

Eventually, he decides he will simply wake the drunk up around 3:30. Thirty minutes to get out of the door and a cab is perhaps far too kind on Loki’s part, but if the drunk _does_ know the owner Loki would rather not risk the fallout. He _likes_ this cafe. 

Strange as that is.

Letting them sleep off the rest of their hangover isn’t an option--the person _reeks_ of residual alpha and underlying beta (so probably a beta who was pissed into alpha mode), and the shop is very much a safe space for the neighbourhood’s omegas. 

Drunk beta-alpha is _not_ safe. 

***

_Cafe O-_ ( _negative_ not _minus_ as the owner often corrects, and thus Loki also often corrects) may have one of the single stupidest names that Loki has ever encountered, but it is also one of the few cafes that caters almost exclusively to omegas. The staff are all as packless or bottom of the rung as Loki, the clientele almost all in the same state. It isn’t the coffee that brings people back--even Loki will admit it’s only middling coffee despite his employment. No what brings them back is it’s the closest most of them _have_ to a pack. 

***

“You need to get up.” Loki toes the… spine? spine of the drunk. He pushes a little harder when there’s no reaction. 

_That_ does the trick. There’s a little bit of a groan, and then the drunk rolls over. Loki examines them for a moment--goatee, dress shirt rumpled, brown hair--before he tenses up.

This is _Tony Stark_. 

(Loki may only have ever seen the billionaire inventor turned hero--and curse, so far as Loki is concerned--of New York City on newspaper and magazine covers, but that doesn’t change the fact there are very few people who are so distinctly _recognizable_. There is a touch more grey at his temples than the photos ever show, and the light is a bit odd near his sternum, but all the same--Loki is _certain_ that this is Tony Stark.)

“What time is it?” Stark slurs--at least, that’s what Loki _thinks_ that he says. 

“Three thirty,” Loki says. He nudges him with a foot again to the ribs--he may be Tony Stark, but he is still a drunk beta in the floor of an omega-centric cafe thirty minutes prior to opening. 

Stark groans and covers his face with one arm.

“Why are you in my coffee shop?” Loki asks. “How did you even get in?” 

“Need t’go,” Stark mumbles into his shirt sleeve. He uncovers his face, looking rather blearily at Loki. For a moment, Loki almost allows himself a moment of pity--Stark looks _tired_.

(Purely the result of staggering in drunk, Loki reminds himself, and the pity vanishes.)

Stark pushes himself to his feet, then pats down his pockets. A few moments later, he pulls out his wallet, then cash (do people as rich as Stark actually carry cash?), sets it on a table, and finally--without a word to Loki--stumbles out the door and into the street.

Loki eyes the four fifties on the table. That went far smoother than he expected. 

He should probably report the cash. As it is, he pulls out his own wallet and neatly inserts the bills--that’s grocery money for at least a month, if he’s careful, and if the owner asks then he’ll say it was much less than it actually was. 

Hopefully that’s the _last_ of the oddities for today. 

He goes back to sweeping.


	2. Chapter 2

Loki doesn’t mention the run in with Stark to anyone--those sorts of stories are a good way to get attention that he very much doesn’t want, none of it good. He does, however, find himself paying a touch more attention to news stories of the Avengers (particularly Stark) in public. Does Stark actually look tired all the time? 

Loki can’t tell, and he tells himself he doesn’t care. He’ll likely never run into the man again, and he certainly can’t have made any kind of impression. 

He just feels grateful for the grocery money, however unintentionally given it may have been. That’s all. 

***

Loki lives, like many of the clientele of _Cafe O-_ , in the same general neighbourhood as the cafe. The rent is cheap, he doesn’t need a car and so saves on car insurance and gas money, and everything for sale in the neighbourhood is also relatively inexpensive.

It may (Loki will admit) be a bit of a slum (aided a bit by also not being a white neighbourhood), the sort of place proper packs tell each other not to visit except on a dare. Which doesn’t make the least bit of sense to Loki--packless omegas such as himself are generally packless because they want to be left _alone_ and the immigrant packs that make up the rest of the neighbourhood are some of the kindest that Loki has met.

Loki personally thinks he probably lives in one of the safest neighbourhoods in New York, which is saying something with the Avengers living in the same city and attracting all _kinds_ of attention. 

That said, this is also why he _still_ hasn’t bothered to fix the lock on his apartment window. 

He wakes up to the sound of Cat yowling and a metallic thump on the opposite side of the room of his tiny studio apartment, hand instinctively fumbling for the bat he keeps by the bed. (Somewhere, Thor is laughing about this, as Loki is six foot four and took taekwondo as a child, but a bat doesn’t require Loki to be awake to use it.) 

As his eyes adjust and he gets up, the smell of alcohol and beta hits his nose. _Fantastic_. He hopes that it’s just the next door neighbour’s son--this wouldn’t be the first time that the teen had come in through the wrong window. He makes sure to have the bat ready just in case as he approaches and realizes that the shape is all wrong. For one, it’s far more _boxy_ than it should be.

Cat, however, is not hissing, and as the intruder rolls over onto their back, filling the room with a soft blue glow, she promptly climbs onto their chest and starts to purr. 

“What is this? Hello. Do you have a name?” Tony Stark-- _really?_ again??--pets Cat with one gauntleted hand as his face plate lifts. Cat, the traitor, purrs and leans into the touch.

Loki scowls down at Stark and Cat both. 

“Seriously?” Loki asks. “Why did you try to climb in my window?” 

“I fell,” Tony Stark says. “I was getting unstuck.”

Loki lives on a floor half sunk into the ground, with a small space around the window and street where it would matter. If Stark is as drunk as he smells, Loki will admit it is, in fact, a plausible story, but he’s still no less impressed that it means Stark is on his floor. 

“You cannot stay here. I have to—” the clock reads one in the morning “--to go to work in two hours.” Loki sighs, leaning the bat against the wall.

“Does your cat have a name?” 

“Do you have a nanny?”

“Yeah, Jarvis is out, that crash was rough.”

“I mean someone I can call to pick you up,” Loki says, voice testy.

“On my phone.” Stark momentarily stops petting Cat and pops a compartment open on his suit, handing Loki the phone. Loki sighs--must he do _everything_?--and starts to sort through contacts. “Happy.”

“Is not my emotional state,” Loki supplies. 

“No, no, that’s my bodyguard.” 

Loki raises an eyebrow, but at least it gives him an idea who to call. 

“So what’s the cat’s name?” 

“Shut up.”

“I told you Happy’s name, this is an even trade.”

“You are drunk.”

“And you have great hip bones.”

Loki presses the call button perhaps a touch more forcefully than he intends to. 

“Cat. Her name is Cat.”

“Huh.” Stark at least does not comment that it is a patently ridiculous name, and in any case, Loki is spared hearing anything else, as this _Happy_ picks up the phone by the second ring. Loki supplies his location, and what led to Stark to be in his apartment, before he hangs up. 

He stares down at where Stark is still playing with Cat. The half-feral beastie is utterly showboating for him, which is (to say the least) unusual. Loki shouldn’t trust that as much as he does, but Cat likes very few people at all. 

He sits down at his desk chair to watch the two until Happy can arrive. 

***

“For your window,” Happy says, after he and Loki have gotten Stark to the car. Loki is a bit curious exactly how drunk Stark is--he can clearly talk more coherently than he was that morning at the cafe, but now isn’t the time to question it as he’s being handed a business card. “Stark Industries number, give her a call and she’ll come back and get the window fixed at no charge.”

Loki considers explaining to Happy that the window lock was broken before Stark fell through, but then decides that it hurts exactly zero people if he doesn’t. Stark certainly has the money to spare. 

“No trouble at all,” Loki murmurs instead, just as his mother taught him to. 


	3. Chapter 3

His family is no longer really his pack and has not been since he cut ties a few years ago; but when Loki gets the call and the money (from Thor)(who knows better than to _ask_ ) for a visit because their mother is getting surgery, Loki makes the appropriate arrangements to go. 

Even though he _hates_ flying.

(It’s _unnatural_. It’s high in the air and there’s turbulence and there are all these smells and _people_ stuck in the same tiny space, never enough leg room, and Loki _hates_ how _obvious_ it is when he’s around others that he is omega. If he’s lucky, he won’t end up next to a child and have to deal with the awkward dance of a parent trying to decide how to trade seats without offending him.)

(As if just _sitting_ next to an omega might infect their child with what inclines people towards the status.)

But he will try to make the best of it. He needs to see his mother for her surgery--he only wishes that teleportation had been invented already. 

The gate is a buzz of activity and too many people; there’s a small crowd in one corner, flash of cameras, which he ignores in favour of how _crowded_ the gate is. He shifts the potted plant (a gift for his mother) in his arms. It almost looks, he thinks, like there are too many people for their plane--a nonstop flight from New York to San Diego. 

Sure enough, a few minutes later there is an announcement--will anyone give up their seat? They will be compensated. Loki thinks _of course_ and then, because he would not mind delaying his flight at all, makes his way to the counter.

“Are you sure?” the flight attendant asks. “The next flight isn’t for another four hours.” He smells faintly of worry, perfectly parted hair starting to show a touch of strain from the stress that is his job.

Loki smiles.

“As long as I’m there before tomorrow at eight, I’m certain.”

The attendant smiles, happy to have one less problem.

“Stay by the gate until we start boarding, just in case you don’t need a new flight.”

Loki does. He sits with his small plant (hell to get through security) and watches people and hopes that maybe, just maybe, he’ll get the later--and less crowded--flight.

***

Perhaps there is some benefit to altruism after all. 

“That’s alright, isn’t it?” the attendant asks. 

“It’s fine,” Loki repeats. 

He hasn’t flown first class in _years_ (not since he left his family and all the benefits that came with it). But he remembers the spaciousness--something approaching legroom--and the comfort. The rest of the flight has boarded, so he’s one of the last to get on and make his way to his seat, bag checked planeside and still carrying his potted plant. 

It’s probably for the best that he’s the last to get on, considering how shortly he stops when he gets to his seat. 

“ _You_ ,” Loki says, perhaps a little more forcefully than he intended to. 

“I get that a lot,” Stark says without looking up from his tablet, sunglasses firmly pushed onto his nose. He blinks, then looks up at Loki, one brow furrowing. “Do I know you?” 

“I should hope so. You broke into my cafe _and_ my apartment.” Loki hurriedly sits down as the flight attendant starts towards him, trying to lean away from Stark as discreetly as possible. This is awful. He thought first class would be a nice change of pace, and instead he’s stuck next to the drunk that keeps showing up like a bad penny. 

The wildly popular one, he reflects, remembering the cluster of people and cameras he saw at the gate but didn’t bother to investigate. 

“ _You’re_ the window I broke.” Stark flashes a bright smile. Why is he even flying on a commercial flight? Doesn’t he have an Iron Man suit? His own plane? “Sorry about that.”

“I’m sure,” Loki says, fastening his seat belt and then staring firmly ahead. Perhaps he can ignore him? Why did no one tell him he was going to be sitting next to Stark?

(They probably thought they were doing him a favour.)

“Wait, don’t tell me you aren’t a _fan_. I’ll have to get you a conversion kit.” 

Ignoring Stark doesn’t seem like it will do the trick.

“No, I am _not_ , thank you.” Loki glares at Stark. “You keep showing up drunk in my life, and I’d really rather it didn’t go _past that_ , thank you. It would be best of all if you would simply stop showing up at _all_.”

There’s a lurch as the plane starts to push away from the gate that has Loki’s shoulders ticking tighter and fingers tightening convulsively on the plant in his lap. 

“First time flyer?” Stark says, all sympathy, as if Loki hasn’t said a _word_. Loki contemplates beating his head in with the plant, but then they probably will throw him off the plane and then he will arrive empty handed to his mother. 

Not to mention that might mean _moving_ , and he’s fairly certain that his muscles have locked up entirely. 

“Hey, can we get this man a drink?” Stark says. “I’m flying commercial to still be sober when I arrive in Cali, but no one said anything about not getting other people drunk. It’ll help you relax. What do you like?”

This is a _terrible_ idea.

Stark pulls out a credit card to hand the stewardess with a suggestive eyebrow wiggle. 

“Whiskey,” Loki finally says.

***

“She made these cookies,” Loki says, absent mindedly pulling the clear bag out of his coat pocket. “Mamool? I don’t know, that’s what she calls them. They’re amazing.” 

(There’s a low buzz in his veins, a warm glow deep in his belly. Whiskey might piss Thor off, but Loki feels like he’s a few moments away from falling asleep, always is when he drinks it, and everything feels stained gold at the edges. Even Stark isn’t so bad when Loki’s the one on his way to drunk while Stark has to handle sobriety. Perhaps Loki was simply being unkind because he was sober and Stark was drunk.

And Stark also fell through his window. There is that.)

“So she gives you plants and cookies? Not bad. I should consider neighbours.” 

“They’re for my mother. The plant is.” Loki eyes Stark, trying to decide if he’s making fun, but Stark genuinely seems impressed. “You know, you aren’t bad when you’re sober.”

Stark barks a laugh.

“And you’re not too bad yourself. How’re you feeling?” 

“Drunk.”

Stark grins. “Worried about flying?” 

That is _almost_ enough to jarr him out of his rather low-key relaxation, but not quite. Not even the bit of turbulence they had hit had upset him. 

“No,” Loki finally says. 

“Excellent. Let’s keep it that way.”

***

When Loki wakes up, it’s in Thor’s car. His head hurts something fierce, and for a panicked moment he has no idea how he got here--or, worse, where the plant is. 

(But the smell of Thor makes it hard to truly worry; even years later, Thor still manages to smell like _home_. Loki hates him for it, a little.)

(He hates how lonely it makes him feel more.)

“I didn’t know that you were friends with Tony Stark,” Thor says mildly, voice a low vibration against Loki’s growing headache. 

“There are a lot of things you don’t know about me,” Loki replies--it’s a phrase he’s said uncountable times to his brother, but today it only sounds tired. The acid has long since been washed out, leaving the worn thing that passes over his tongue, rote-like. 

Thor snorts. 

“I don’t know him,” Loki adds, pushing himself up a bit and stretching. “I got moved to first class. He was being helpful, trying to keep me distracted. You know I hate flying.” 

That makes Thor hum a bit, thoughtful. The air in the car feels nearly oppressive—when _was_ the last time that Loki saw Thor? 

(When he left, three years ago, breaking his ties with the pack in a quick cut before he lost the courage. Messily, because he didn’t know any other way then.)

(He doesn’t think he knows a better one now, but it’s over and done. Loki’s made his peace with it; he has no idea if the rest of them have. It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. He’s here for Mother, not the pack.)

“There’s some aspirin in the dash,” Thor says, keeping his thoughts to himself. It’s a change--Thor would have demanded explanations before, assumed they were his by right just like always. 

Loki leans forward, fumbling around. He helps himself to the water bottle in the cup holder and the aspirin both. 

“How is she doing?”

“She’s alright. Tired a lot.” 

“Good,” Loki says. 

Idly, he checks to make sure he still has all his belongings--his keys and wallet are both where he expects, but there is also cardstock that he is _not_ expecting. He pulls it out to find a business card with a lone number scrawled on the back.

He blinks, then finds that he’s smiling a bit. Perhaps it was the whiskey that has stained his memory and impression of Stark gold, but then…

It will be something to look forward to, if he calls. And perhaps the impression has gone both ways. 

He tucks it into his wallet, settling a little more firmly into the seat and watches the afternoon light reflect off the buildings of San Diego.

If he’s lucky, he won’t be here long.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the longest of all the chapters, for reasons that become obvious after reading. Enjoy~

He’s been back in New York for nearly a week, and it’s been two since his mother’s surgery. As soon as he stepped back in the apartment building-- _someone_ must have told them when his flight back was (unfortunately not first class, and far more stressful than the one out)--he was assaulted with Get Well cards and cookies, as if he were the one who were sick. 

(He can’t say he minded after the stress that was interacting with the pack again, especially now that most of them seem to view him as a _traitor_ of some sort.)(Their loss.)

The last of the cards have been dutifully mailed to his mother. Work has fallen back into a familiar routine--and with it he has started to get enough sleep once more. He almost feels _human_ again.

Which means all he has left to do is actually call the number Stark shoved in his pocket.

He’s not an idiot, he _knows_ that people don’t give out numbers just to say thanks. He also knows Stark’s reputation--it hasn’t made headlines as often lately, but there was a period of years where the inventor’s hookups were most of his fame in the public. 

But what would Stark want to do with him? They’ve only ever spoken while one of them was inebriated, which can’t possibly be a good way to judge character. 

(But then, what does he have to lose?)

***

“How did you get this number?” is the very first thing that Stark says when he answers the phone; Loki has to bite his tongue before he laughs. 

“I’m not entirely sure; I woke up with it in my pocket,” Loki says, letting his smirk bleed through. He rubs his thumb over the business card, staring out the window. It’s a quiet moment in the cafe, but it may not stay that way long--it’s nearly lunch.

(This is a whim. He does not expecting anything to come of this. He’s simply… curious.)

There’s silence and Loki can _almost_ hear Stark thinking. 

“You’re the guy on the plane, Loki, right? It’s been weeks.” Stark sounds a little accusatory.

“It’s not every day I get the phone number of a celebrity.” 

“Most people would jump on that.”

“Most people are fine with being a notch on the bedpost.” Loki snorts at Stark’s guilty silence, but then Stark starts to laugh. 

“I knew I liked you,” Stark says. “Let’s do dinner. Do you do dinner? When you do you go to bed? Or lunch. A meal that people eat together.”

"I'm off work on Thursday. A late lunch, say around three?"

"Perfect, I'll text you the place--you are on your cell right, and not some friend's?"

"I am."

"Excellent. Excellent. This should be good. See you Thursday."

Loki hangs up the phone, a little more elated than he thinks that he should be. Yes, it _is_ Tony Stark (which should be reason for excitement), but this doesn't feel like the excitement of meeting a celebrity so much as the nervous (gleeful) bubbling of _having a date._

Perhaps he should cancel. 

***

When he gets the text with _where_ they are meeting, he very nearly does. Especially after he looks online and realizes exactly _where_ Stark wants to go. 

But he's going to be reasonable about this. He hasn't had a date in a while, and maybe Stark simply doesn't realize that _most_ omegas don't have the money to have the sort of clothes this restaurant will require. 

He texts Stark. 

_I do not have a suit._

Not that he doesn’t have one that’s appropriate for the restaurant. He simply doesn’t have one. He has dress shirts that he wears for work when they have more formal parties around prom season, he has a few slacks, but for the most part, his wardrobe is suitable for casual going out.

Not five star restaurants. 

A few minutes later his phone vibrates against his hip. 

_Ppl live w out suits? wow. here._

A moment later, there’s another text with an address, and finally, a third:

_tell her stark sent u, np._

Loki feels his stomach sinking. This is not the response that he was hoping for. He wanted to change locations, to go somewhere that he is not going to stick out like a sore thumb, somewhere he does _not_ need a suit at all. 

_There is no way I can do that_ , Loki sends back, in the mild hopes that it will get his point across. 

(He has a sinking feeling that it won’t. Stark lives in an entirely different world; one Loki is familiar with but hasn’t been his in years. Prior to finally cutting ties entirely, _he_ certainly didn’t understand some of the ramifications of simply being _poor_.)

“What’s wrong?” Peter asks as he comes out of the kitchen carrying another bag of coffee beans. 

“Dating. Dating is what’s wrong,” Loki says without thinking. He scowls a little.

Peter grimaces sympathetically, letting the bag drop by the counter with a heavy thump. “That sucks, man. Me and MJ started dating again, you know, and even though it’s good it’s just so much work.” 

“But you know she’s worth it,” Loki says glumly as his phone vibrates again. 

“Oh, it’s a _first_ date. Yeah, good luck with that.”

Loki sighs, and pulls his phone out, bracing for the disappointment. This is not boding well at all for any sort of relationship with Stark beyond a first date. What a pity.

_off the rack isn’t that bad no1 will notice. but it’s 2morrow and she’ll kill me if u go for bespoke the day b4._

“Don’t date outside your economic class,” Loki tells Peter, sending back a short _fine_ and turning the vibrate off entirely. “The rich are oblivious.”

“But free stuff,” Peter points out.

Loki laughs a little, shaking his head. 

“Tell me how it goes?” 

“Sure,” Loki says. “It can’t be _that_ much of a trainwreck.”

***

The tailor’s name is Annalise. She is professional, quick, and absolutely no-nonsense, which Loki is grateful for. Just as much as her slight raised eyebrow at what he’s wearing, but she keeps it to herself. 

She just shakes her head at Stark’s name and starts to sort through suits and cuts. 

Loki’s glad he didn’t see the price tag if he’s honest. He already knows the suit is probably worth more than his entire closet, but that doesn’t mean he has to know by _how much_.

***

Happy picks him up. If he has any thoughts on his boss’s taste, he keeps them to himself, and he doesn’t show the least bit of surprise or recognition when Loki slides into the passenger seat. It’s a different car than the one he showed up in that night, and idly Loki wonders how many cars Stark has. Probably a few, just to throw off reporters. 

It’s a quiet ride. Plenty of time for Loki to feel uncomfortable about how _comfortable_ a well-cut suit is, about where they’re going, about someone recognizing him with Stark and his family getting wind of it. 

(They don’t care, he tells himself firmly. Besides, they also don’t read the sort of tabloid that would report on Stark’s flavour of the week.)

How much worse would this be if he hadn’t grown up with his rather well-off pack? At least he’ll know what’s proper table manners and which fork to use. 

(Small comforts.)

“He’ll already be at the table,” Happy tells him when he pulls up by the restaurant--seafood and right on the bay, a glorious sight at night that Loki finds he can’t quite enjoy as much as he wants. “Less people to notice that way.” 

“Thank you,” Loki says, and gets out.

After Happy pulls away, he thinks for a moment of just walking away, of leaving Stark there and returning the suit and just… _not doing this_. 

(Nothing ventured nothing gained.)

He goes inside.

***

“You made it!” Stark says, perking up as soon as he sees Loki. Loki smiles--it’s almost puppyish the way Stark lit up. “I was beginning to wonder if Happy had kidnapped you.”

(Stark is oblivious, not malicious. He’s not trying to shame Loki about his lack of money.)

“I am… early,” Loki informs him, checking his phone. “Which means _you_ , famous for chronic lateness, are even earlier.” He raises an eyebrow. “Excited are we?”

“Why not? Do you know how often I get to go on dates?” Stark wiggles his eyebrows as Loki slides into his seat. “Like actual dates? This is novel.”

“So is that what I am to you? A novelty?” 

“If you mean a book I want to read, then yes.” Stark grins cocksure and confident, pure golden warmth that reminds Loki, a little, of the way whiskey tinges the room gold. Without meaning to, he can feel a smirk beginning to quirk one side of his mouth, which only makes Stark grin wider when he sees it. 

Perhaps, just perhaps, this won’t be so bad after all, cheesy pick-up lines aside. 

***

Loki smiles at Stark over the rim of his wine glass, setting it down. The food so far has been excellent, if so rich that he can feel it settling poorly on his stomach; the wine is top notch, the sort of guaranteed quality attached to its price tag that means he doesn’t need to brace before he drinks it; the atmosphere…

Well, the atmosphere has been all Stark. 

Between Stark’s sheer presence and being somewhat far away from many of the other tables--close enough to the kitchen that every now and then he can hear the bustle when the door opens--Loki _almost_ doesn’t feel as entirely fish out of water as he so clearly is. 

Then there’s a tug on his pants leg. 

For a moment, he wonders if it’s Stark--but there’s another distinct _tug_ , not the brush of a foot against his leg, and he looks down, a bit curious. 

“Everything alright?” Stark asks. 

Loki starts to smile and wave him off, then his brain processes the rusty red shape currently attached to his pants leg. The _creature_ gives one more tug as Loki’s smile freezes in place, wine glass spilling everywhere as he misses putting it down; his breath catches, staring into beady black eyes that are considering him like every nightmare he’s had since that day at the beach when he was five. 

“ _Ohmygod_ ,” he says, or thinks he says, but he’s really not sure, standing up quickly enough that his chair falls over and he bumps into the table. His pants tear between the crab’s claws, and instinctively he grasps for something-- _anything_ \--to distract the crab long enough that he can _get away_. 

He finds a fork. Which, so far as weapons go, is rather pathetic, but he’s not going to _fight_ the thing, only _keep it from following_. So he throws it at the crab, clacking its claws at him like some sort of _promise_ of what it will do to him if it catches hold of him again. 

Then, not quite able to process anything that Stark is saying--other than his confusion to alarm (as _well he should be_ )--he beats a hasty retreat for somewhere with a _door_ between he and the monster.

***

He’s still in the bathroom contemplating never leaving--or escaping through the window--with his head resting on his forearms in his lap when he hears the bathroom door open.

(The only nice thing about restaurants this expensive is there is invariably some sort of small cushioned bench by the sinks, which he does not understand but does appreciate.)

It is not the first time the door has opened since he took refuge here, but it is the first time the other person does not immediately beat a hasty retreat. 

( _God_ , but he was so _stupid_. Throwing a _fork_ at a _crab_. Reacting that badly to a crab in front of his date--in front of _Tony Stark_. _This_ is why he doesn’t date rich people, they can afford restaurants that will have _live crab_ to cook for meals, live crab which can and will escape because Loki is _cursed_ , and _fuck_.)

(This is why he doesn’t _date_.)

“So…” his new bathroom mate says, and Loki groans inwardly. He was half-hoping Stark would leave him so that Loki could make his way home on his own and never think or speak of this horrible moment _again_. “I’m pretty sure the chef is having conniptions, thinks you’ll sue.” He sounds so awkward, humour resting on top like a hurriedly applied coat of paint. 

“I can’t afford legal costs,” Loki says bleakly, giving a chuckle that pulls a little too roughly on his dry throat. 

The silence goes awkward again; is Stark really so clueless? 

“He doesn’t know that,” Stark finally offers. “Besides, that… wasn’t _that_ bad.”

Loki leans up, looking at Stark.

“I was attacked and threw a _fork_ at a _crab_ before _hiding in the bathroom_ on a date with _Tony Stark_.”

Stark’s nose wrinkles and he shoves his hands in his pockets.

“Yeah, well, when you put it like that _that_ , it sounds pretty bad. But trust me, it really isn’t, if you want I can tell you some pretty great birthday stories where I totally do way worse, trust me—”

Stark keeps rambling. In the low light of the bathroom, the worry lines and grey of his hair is lost, his casual slouch makes his perfectly cut and tailored suit look like it doesn’t cost the same as Loki’s apartment building, and his voice is a soft warmth that complements the lighting.

(He can’t afford to sue, will likely never be able to, and he can’t afford to date Stark. It hurts a little, to realize it, but he left all things gold behind when he left his pack, _knew_ that he likely would never have them again--and Stark is many, many things that Loki craves, but most of all he is _gold_.)

“--anyway, next time—”

“I can’t do this,” Loki says. His voice is cold, even as his stomach twists itself in a knot at the surprise on Stark’s face.

“Well, no,” Stark recovers, “I imagine that most people don’t particularly enjoy being attacked by crabs over dinner. Perfectly normal reaction—”

( _God_ , how much he wants that humour, to see if all of this is an act Stark is putting on for him or who he _actually_ is.)

“I can’t date you.” 

Stark goes silent, mouth almost petulant as he frowns. 

“Why not?”

“Because of who you are. You won’t get it. You _can’t_ get it. I can’t do this. I cannot date someone who has to buy me clothing that I will _never_ have a reason to wear again just so I can dress appropriately for a date. Do you have any idea how uncomfortable that is? Is there some built-in expectation? Clearly, for _you_ it was only a problem to solve, but how could I know that? How _can_ I know that there isn’t an assumption that I will always say yes because you buy me things? How am I supposed to deal with--with—” he casts around, not wanting to lose any steam, not wanting to give Stark time to think of some way around this because he _can’t_ do this, he _can’t_ , he left for a _reason_ —”the press. I’m an _omega_. I’m an omega who lives in a shady neighbourhood who works in a _coffee shop_ for a living, and as _soon_ as the press gets wind that you’re wining and dining me— _You_ could survive the circus, you always do, but _me_. I can’t _afford_ to date you, anymore than I can afford a single dish here or the suit that you bought me.” Loki pauses, takes a deep breath, tries to gather some measure of control back again. Avoids Stark’s eyes even as he doesn’t want to look away. 

It’s nearly unbearable, waiting on Stark to give his okay, for him to realize that this has nearly no chance of working at all. 

“Okay,” Stark says and Loki’s shoulder relax as he lets out the breathe he didn’t realize he was holding. “Okay. So say you pick.”

Loki’s mouth falls open.

“ _What_.”

“Like, I clearly don’t know what’s in your budget at all, and if you aren’t comfortable with me buying you things so we can go places I want, then, okay, _you_ pick. That seems reasonable to me. Hell, you probably know places that taste just as good or way more fun than dressing up in a suit, this is just an easy place to avoid the media circus and the first that came to mind. Which I probably shouldn’t have said that, but _anyway_ , you pick.” Stark grins, self-satisfied and cat-like. 

“Did you not listen to _anything_ I said?”

Stark’s brow furrows.

“Yes? God, I hate negative questions, they’re the trapped floor of questions, there’s no right answer.”

Loki stares at him. Stark just stares right back, one eyebrow raised like he has all the time in the world to wait for Loki’s answer. Which he probably does. Why can’t someone attack New York when Loki wants Stark to _not_ focus on him? 

“Let me think about it,” Loki finally says. Which is probably a mistake, but saying _no_ might result in Stark not letting him leave until he gets a _maybe_. “Please,” he adds before Stark can finish opening his mouth and say anything else. 

“Okay,” Stark says. “I can do that. Totally.” There’s a little twist of his lips, almost a moue, then he adds, “Sorry about tonight. I thought it was going pretty well.” 

Loki shouldn’t encourage him. He really shouldn’t. He’s going to send Stark a firm _no_ tomorrow, he shouldn’t give him any more hope than he already has but….

“It was,” Loki says. “Until the crab.”

***

He shouldn’t be nearly as exhausted as he is when he gets up the next day--he doesn’t have work, he had time to sleep in and indulge the slightly later bedtime to go on the early dinner date with Stark--but he is. Stress. Stress and crabs and nightmares about crabs and _why_ is the Iron Man suit red is what Loki wants to know, because Iron Man _crabs_ are the last thing he ever wanted his brain to cook up. 

Which is definitely why he does not immediately text Stark _no_ when he wakes up. He needs coffee and pastries (both free from work).

“So how did the date go,” Peter asks.

“I was attacked by a sea demon,” Loki mumbles into his coffee. 

“I thought you were going to eat dinner?” Peter looks uncertain, but Loki supposes that’s a fair reaction considering how many _situations_ Loki has gotten himself into. 

“A live crab escaped from the kitchen and attacked me,” Loki says. He grabs for the whole milk, pouring more into his coffee. “Still have all my fingers and toes, have none of my dignity. I told him I don’t want to date anymore, he got a maybe out of me, so now I need to tell him no _again_ after ‘thinking about it.’”

“Because a crab attacked you?”

“Not exactly, but close enough. The crab was a warning from Fate to back away.”

“I think you should finish your coffee before you decide. Can you keep an eye on the register while I go grab some more pastries from the back?”

“I’m not working!” Loki calls after him, then glares sullenly at the lone customer who walks in roughly a minute later. The same customer whose order he’s ringing up when Peter reappears with a tray of fresh muffins for the display.

“Cafe latte with whip,” Loki says, shoving the cup at him and sitting back down.

“Seriously. Don’t make a rash decision. Rash decisions are how _I_ get in trouble. Drink your coffee. A second date wouldn’t hurt, you know.”

“He’s too rich.”

“You’re too picky.”

“He’s got a pack.”

“Which you are not in any way obligated to join because it is _only a second date_. To make up for the crab.” Peter turns to the customer with the latte, raising an eyebrow and getting that gangly hip tilt that suggests he’s about to ask a _total stranger_ for advice on Loki’s love life. “What do you think?”

“I think I would like my latte, please.”

Peter sighs, handing the latte over with a tray and napkins. 

“Also,” the customer adds, just as Loki’s starting to smile triumphantly at Peter, “I’d do it. Dates are pretty okay, it’s the _bonding_ people want to do when it’s gets serious that means you should cut your losses and run. _Especially_ if they’re rich, milk it while you can.”

Sometimes, Loki _hates_ that he works in an omega-oriented cafe.

***

He puts it off most of the day. By the time he’s back home and getting ready to go to sleep, he still hasn’t responded to Stark.

(It’s an idiotic idea.)

He toys with his phone a bit before as he gets settled on bed--checks his Yamblr, peruses a few news feeds, reads his webcomics, checks in on his current shameful farming sim of an addiction. Cat sits next to him in solidarity, warm weight a comfort.

(Stark is so far out of his league.)

He stares at his text messages for a few long minutes afterward. There’s a few from Amora, one from his boss about if he’s available to work Tuesday, the few from Stark. One from Thor asking if his plane was on time. He scrolls back to the top of the list, where’s Stark’s is sitting.

(It will never, ever work.)

 _One date_ he types. _One. And I’m picking_. 

He stares at it for a few more long seconds, thumb hovering over the send button. 

(But it’ll be nice while it lasts.)

He hits send.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> you got me this whole universe was just a set up for loki vs crab


	5. Chapter 5

Loki picks his favourite breakfast diner. It’s terribly greasy, the tables have probably lasted through and seen several wars before they arrived at the restaurant, it’s just on the edge of what he considers his neighbourhood. 

It is absolutely the extreme opposite of where Stark took him for dinner. 

On the other hand, Loki can afford it. And he’ll get to see if Stark really is as understanding as he claimed about the money thing.

As a bonus, they make excellent pancakes. 

(Loki is of the opinion they are the best in town, but he will admit some people simply lack a sense of taste; if Stark proves to be one of them, then Loki will know the crab was a Sign.) 

He texts Stark as soon as he decides, because it’s better than texting that he’s changed his mind a half dozen times in the last hour since Stark replied to his one date text with a smiley and _where?_

***

Stark texts him throughout the week. Nonsense things, pictures and snapchats that Loki quickly learns not to look at while working because Stark is basically an extreme nerd who knows how to hide it in public and Loki’s loudest laugh sounds like a horse bray, which is utterly mortifying in front of the customers. (All the regulars who want to know what has him laughing so much but are too, well, _their sort_ of people to explicitly ask, for which Loki counts his blessings.)

(Loki flatly ignores the one sour note that happens, when Stark texts him a _r u sure this place is ok steves like ‘shady’_ , relieved a little a few moments later by _i mean, u kno best ign me itll b gr8_.)

All in all, by the time it’s early Thursday morning and Loki is slipping his hoodie over his head to deal with the late fall crispness before he goes to meet Stark at the diner, he’s feeling reasonably doomed in the most pleasant way possible.

***

Stark is also wearing a hoodie. In addition, there are sunglasses and he hasn’t done his hair, if the way it sticks every which way is a sign. As far as disguises though, Loki will admit that the grease stained _Avengers_ hoodie and otherwise not put together appearance that Stark has is probably a better cover than what Loki was expecting.

It’s also pleasantly charming to see that Stark shows the signs of manual labour just like anyone else. The grease is a good look, or so Loki thinks as he slides into the booth across from him. 

“Early again,” Loki says, raising an eyebrow that Stark doesn’t see, as he’s still looking over the battered laminated menu. 

“I ordered you a coffee, too.”

“Oh, early _and_ thoughtful. What next? Are you hiding roses in that enormous shirt?”

“You’re one to talk. And I just might be.” Stark looks up long enough to make eye contact and wink; Loki steels himself with a smile, looking around for the waitress--Deborah today--to flag her down and order food. 

They both order pancakes--Stark ordering the same thing as Loki, most likely on the assumption that it won’t kill him.

“Looking at that menu was making my heart want to stop,” Stark says. “How do people walk back out of here?”

“Very carefully. And besides, everyone comes here for pancakes. They have the best pancakes in the city.”

“Mmm.” Stark rests his chin on his hand; he’s watching Loki, a little too close to thoughtful, a brow dipped a little. Loki raises an eyebrow in response, settling back and crossing his arms. 

“Yes?” he prompts.

“What made you change your mind?” 

“You don’t start with the safe questions, do you?” Loki chuckles a little. “What makes you think I changed my mind?”

Stark gives him a flat look, not the least bit impressed. Loki sighs. 

“Let’s say that I had a little time to think on it. I _still_ don’t think this will work, certainly not long term, but…” Loki shrugs. “It doesn’t hurt to enjoy things while they last, does it? All relationships are fleeting as it is.”

“What an omega thing to say,” Stark says.

“What a beta thing to think of my perspective,” Loki quips back, a little sharp. His smile likely doesn’t ease that edge any, either, but if Stark can’t handle who he is and how he chooses to live his life, then Loki _really_ doesn’t want to let things slide into another date. 

Stark, though, just laughs. “Fair enough. I probably would’ve agreed with you a year or two ago, but it’s not anything I’ve ever acted on. Certainly not like you.” He gives a soft smile, brown eyes warm. “I think it’s fascinating, to be honest. Reminds me a little of Clint, though he’s not as blunt or melodramatic as you make it sound.” 

“You don’t meet many omegas, do you?” Loki says dryly, letting the tension in his shoulders ease out. He can take curiosity, so long as it’s not invasive or mocking, and Stark doesn’t seem interested in being either of those things right now. 

“Not really. Not since the Avengers, anyway.” Loki considers _would’ve agreed_ and wonders some, if there was ever any truth to the rumours about Stark’s lack of a pack. “So,” Stark says after they get their pancakes. “How do we make this work?” It’s startlingly candid. “Why do you want this to work so much? You barely know me,” Loki counters instead, grabbing the blueberry syrup and generously dousing his pancakes. “I love a challenge,” Stark says with a grin, and then, when Loki just raises a brow and waits, “and you’re. Look, I know this sounds cheesy, but you seem different. It’s nice. Just a chance to get to know you more, that’s all I’m asking.” “Well, thank you.” Loki takes a bite of his pancakes, chews.

What _would_ it take to make this work? (Stark is _golden_ , and Loki cannot have such things anymore—

but _maybe_ —)

“Well?” Stark prompts. 

Loki thinks of the warm gold, the way just _talking_ with Stark feels the way whiskey relaxes him, and knows there’s no way that will always be true.

(maybe)

“You could tell me later,” Stark adds. “Say, is the boysenberry or blackberry syrup better?”

Loki thinks of _dates are pretty okay_ and Peter and MJ, how it felt to be with Thor (as much as he hates that Thor is still _home_ ), and he thinks about the media and the press and the money, and the life he’s built up here and now that is purely and wholly his own.

He can’t give that life up. ( _but maybe_ —) “A lot,” Loki says quietly.

“Oh? Well, I guess I could do both,” Stark rambles, and he does; first boysenberry, then blackberry. He digs in with gusto, and his grin is so _warm_ as he swallows that first bite. “You weren’t kidding, these are _great_.”

“I mean—” Loki chuckles, a quieter thing. 

“You mean?” “It would take a lot.” “Yeah, you said that.” Stark smiles, the tiniest quirk of his lips, and it eases the tiredness that he carries so _much_ of. That Loki understands, at a bone deep level. “I don’t want to lose… what I’ve built,” Loki says. He feels so vulnerable. “You have. Well, you’re _you_. What was it you said at that last press conference? ‘I’m Tony fucking Stark,’ I think it was.” Stark winces a bit, as if secondhand embarrassed, but he doesn’t look away from Loki, so Loki keeps talking, speeding up a bit as he does. “Iron man, an Avenger, and--it would ruin me. I told you that, didn’t I?” “You did,” Stark says quietly. “It would destroy my life.” “But?” “I--it would take a lot,” Loki says. “Tell me what,” Stark says. “And I’ll make it happen.” “Are you really sure?” “Yes.” Stark reaches across the table, and, cautious, touches the back of Loki’s hand, the one curled around the fork. It’s odd; Loki doesn’t feel the urge to lash out at Stark for the gesture. Stark smiles, just a little, warm as whiskey. “Really.” “...okay.” ***

This is stupid. It’s probably all going to blow up in his face. 

But as he eats breakfast with Stark, the conversation moving away from them to… everything else, really, the safe things that aren’t _feelings_ , it reminds him of the plane ride and how comfortable that first date _had_ been, after the money and before the crab.

They sit there for hours after they finish, just drinking coffee and talking; it’s nearly noon when they leave. “So just let me know where next time,” Stark says, shoving his hands in the pouch of his hoodie. “And I’ll do some… _research_.” He grins as he says that, teeth and smarm; Loki chuckles, just a little. “I mean it. I do like a challenge.” “What happens when I stop being one?”

Stark shrugs; Loki laughs. 

“Well _that’s_ reassuring.” “Hey, I’m figuring this out too! And apparently I’ve got more to figure out than you.” Stark sticks his lower lip out in an exaggerated pout, brown eyes unfairly dewy. Loki gives him a light shove. ( _maybe_ )

“Okay,” Loki says, and then, before he loses the confidence, he leans in and gives Stark the lightest kiss on the cheek. Stark’s scruff scratches his lips, rubs against his skin, and Loki cuts off the thought that wonders how it would feel elsewhere as he pulls back. “I’ll let you know.” Stark is _beaming_ , and behind his sunglasses Loki is sure that his eyes have lit up. The honesty of it, the _brightness_ , is stunning, takes years off his face. 

“See you soon,” Stark singsongs, then leans in and plants a kiss on Loki’s cheek too.

Loki watches him walk away towards a car. He didn’t know Stark had cars that weren’t all flash and show, but apparently he’s wrong. 

Maybe it’s a rental.

Loki waves as Stark pulls by, then starts to walk home.

This is probably a mistake, but… well.

Some mistakes are worth making.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And that's all folks!! Thanks to everyone for reading along, and I hope you enjoyed the ride. :)


End file.
